Convergence
by heatherlucky29
Summary: A new scientific discovery falls into the hands of a prolific young artist before he's promptly abducted by aliens. No one could have predicted the impact of a space soiree on modern art. Inspired by a GotG one liner.


Warrensburg, Missouri

July 13, 1935

William H. Byler was agonizingly close.

Though the chem lab at the Central Missouri State college was like a second home to him after two degrees and years of research, he couldn't help but stifle a grunted harrumph of frustration as the sporadically protesting grumbles of a reluctant '20s cooling system in the corner once again interrupted his train of thought.

Setting a slightly glowing petri dish down he picked his way through crates of recently-delivered materials, taking care not to step in the insulatory straw strewn gratuitously across the tile floor as he approached the aging A/C unit. Pausing briefly upon arrival to scientifically purview the situation, Byler's forehead creased as his brain drew upon extensive scientific knowledge. With a small nod, as if to confirm a reasonably scientific conclusion, the scientist straightened up and proceeded to swiftly (and mercilessly) kick the machine into submission before returning to his workbench, the discordant vibrations of the system temporarily silenced.

Byler once again analyzed the phosphorescent petri dish, one of an assortment of numerous containers littering his station. Test tubes containing viscous fluids rested alongside jars of arachnids suspended in formaldehyde. A miniature ceramic pot housed what appeared to be a fungal culture, accompanying a vial of an unmistakable red-brown liquid. Muttering about zinc sulfide and strontium aluminate the doctoral candidate retrieved a compound from a nearby cabinet of chemicals and began the process of weighing out exactly .15 grams, taking a moment to lament the college's palladium shortage before mixing the powder into a beaker of solution. Opening a nearby drawer, Byler rifled through a series of folders before removing violet-colored filter material and an envelope containing circular-cut glass not dissimilar to silver dollar-sized pancakes. Byler shook his head, refocusing on the task at hand (despite not having eaten or slept in the past 24 hours) and began to unwrap a package. The contents of the package had been specially manufactured at a nearby electrical company as a favor from an old college roommate. Luckily, the manager- a guy by the name of Quill- was off getting married or something and couldn't be bothered by unapproved visits to the plant. After insertion of the glass filter along with the contents of the most recent test tube, the hand-held mechanism was operational.

Suppressing a mad-scientist-esque cackle in response to a thrill of anticipation, Byler cut off the power to the laboratory's light source and readied the custom-made flashlight in his hand. Taking a deep, expectant breath he eased his finger onto the switch, flicking it forward as the interior circuit came into contact with implanted chemicals, shining onto the table's multitude of specimens. Blearily blinking sleep from his eyes Byler at first nearly missed the reaction. A palpable glow emanated from the luminescent materials as the violet light shone upon them, ranging from soft green to bright blue to an electric orange. Byler allowed himself a very refined, scientist-like fist pump in response to the spectacle. Upon nearly falling off his stool, William H. Byler placed his lab coat on the hook by the door and left to heed the sweet call of sleep, consenting to clean up in the morning.

He did not notice the gust caused by the lab door as it shut.

Nor did he notice the elliptical roll of the flashlight.

He certainly did not notice as it fell into one of the many post boxes accumulated on the floor, buried within layers of straw and packing paper.

Later that night, when the college groundskeeper reached the lab to lock up, he noticed that very same box, coincidentally a perfect size for the paperweight and letter he intended to send to a former state congressman- a dear family friend. Attributing the extra weight of the box to an additional layer of packing material, he turned out the lights and locked the door, taking the box with him.

Thus the light traversed unnoticed via post to Neosho, Missouri, the former home of the late Colonel Maecenas Benton. Accustomed to receiving packages intended for his son, artist Thomas Hart Benton, the house's occupants kindly redirected the box to his teaching studio in the Art Student's League on West 57th Street in New York City. It was there that a prolific young art student found it before promptly being abducted by aliens.


End file.
